BLOSSOMS POETRY WRITING CONTEST 2013: My Dream.

April had forayed into trying her hand at poetry since elementary school. But of late with her everyday schedule being busy, she has had nothing inspiring to write about and has been away from the scene of poetry except for when it is time for a poetry contest, or a literary competition: not that there were many of those.

She was part of exactly two poetry writing contests in the past two years, both of which were at her Pre University College. She always made sure to archive the poems she wrote for the contests, by carrying them back home on the drafting paper. This year being her first at University, she tried her hand at writing poetry during the Inter Deanery contest.

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Theme: My Dream
Limit: a maximum of thirty lines.

1. Not defined on time,
Is this offshore country.
Be free to bet every dime--
For landing here is no wizardry.
It is where everything can rhyme,
On a loop with an endless spree, so free.

2. Not required is any labor,
So fret not, and smile, Sonny.
Take it all in--live it--savour!
No peril nor mayhem awaits you on this journey.
Ain't sure if it does you twice the same favour;
As it shall slip, like from your hand does money.

3. So sour the living cream?
No, darling, do not weep.
It could trap that eternal scream,
Put it asleep, maybe while counting sheep.
Hello, and welcome to my dream,
With the promise of freedom in every leap.

4. With enticing visions both dull and bright,
As dazzling as a marvel to behold,
So beautiful is this sight
Where I watch such mysterious unfold!
I gaze till I find my chest to be tight
Till it fills up with stories untold.

5. My hate for it is so very few,
For it is but such a great ploy;
It delivers me from my feelings so blue,
And gives me very much joy.
So when I dream, I bid adieu,
To all the world so coy.

-----------------------------------

Signing off,
April Twelving.

Life goes on...

April has many a time, wanted to stop what she's occupied with, and put down her thoughts to writing. But feh, if only she were that committed to writing.
Times have changed, new things have taken place, plenty of new experiences later, April is now of the decision to slowly fall into the author's pattern; at least of what she used to be before.

She shall take up writing with a bright, sharper perspective from now. As before, April shall not write of mundane everyday things, but try to channel everything toward a poetical sense.

She hopes she'll do her best.

:-)
Signing off!

SALUT D’AMOUR

Ovid, the controversial poet of Augustus Caesar’s period is one person April would like to meet. Given that it is now well over two thousand years since his passing away, it is most distressing. April got to know of that poet’s existence from an Anne Rice novel. She was taken aback by those verses of Ovid with almost the same feelings she was confronted with when skimming through D.H. Lawrence’s ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’. And what with a little Augustan girl of five years reciting such steamy lines with such precise fluidity, albeit being fictional!

Then again, it was only owing to April’s naïve nature that she was taken aback. Not just at the aforementioned juncture, but also when digested some works of Hilary Mantel, Sidney Sheldon, Anne Rice and also the author of ‘Pendragon Island’, of whose name she knows not of—including D.H. Lawrence, of course. The list includes online 

fanfiction authors, too.

The explicit depiction of what goes on between people to the most intimate degree being published so boldly in enticing, big black letters, with that glamorous promise of art rendered on its cover, that homey scent of the thick-spined book has never really sat well with April. She was around Grade 5 or 6, she remembers, that she had never encountered such a book. Though there flashed neon signs in her senses bright enough to relay the message that there was something ‘bad’ and ‘forbidden’ to it, she couldn’t get a clear picture of what she had just digested. Why would she with being nothing but a naïve child?

While writing this, April felt many of those ‘bumps-in-the-road’ as to whether she should continue writing this; she didn’t want her memories of such a genre to be so carelessly splashed across a spare piece of paper. It’s almost similar to writing an autobiography—one that might revolt most people who might possess that slight ounce of logic to understand this just enough: like that of a night prowler? Revolting, yes—such a phrase. But please, try to excuse April. She is a mere human: no matter how pathetic of an excuse it seems to be. A teenager at it, too.

With a progress so painfully slow, April did come to know of just about all those ‘out-of-the-world’ carnal pleasures: none through practical means though. The world of penned fiction is that which has made and shaped her as the person she is to this second, enabling her to even have been influenced to a very great extent. It is without question that April was completely revolted of it all at the start. “Curiosity killed the cat”. And April was that little kitty. She was drawn towards it all just as how the moths are towards the light, like how a century old cognac of luxurious aroma tempts an alcoholic. Of course the comparisons are grandeur—April assures that her curiosity was not of that scale however.

Tripping across a word or two was not infrequent. Not without the time that indeed come to make April see some sense of it. Many instances, where the loop of going through the material, were without question present. Having multiple mis-interpretations of the real meaning, which would in some cases actually sink in the sea of confusion, and in debates of ‘scholars’ is how April thinks of Shakespeare’s works and literature and well, art in general. And she would like you to please understand that her story of finally getting to interpret everything she had come across of the genre she’s writing about was almost of the similar manner.

That which goes on between people; the ‘dance that is as old as time’ as how some writers put it, is indeed an art. But art needs getting used to—as in like anything new that one comes across. April vividly recounts her memory of the fictional Lydia from Anne Rice’s writing whenever she comes across any reference to that dance. And then, sinks in the sea of mesmerization, awe, wonder, curiosity, eagerness—with revolt and disgust almost always being present in traces. You can’t expect every batch of pastry to come out right.

April is ashamed of denying her knowledge of that dance when in a deep conversation about it to her friend. Being experienced with how to control her actions around people, feigning innocence was never a scruple for her. And that is just what she got to test and prove again; she lied. April stopped writing for a solid amount after the previous paragraph she writ, unsure of how to continue which included a considerably long dinner.

That friend confessed—well, that is definitely not the apt word—her account of having gotten to know about the dance  April was all that charm which an ‘innocent’ kid who promises Santa Claus that she was good all through the year, waiting for the promised delivery of Christmas presents possesses with hot guilt eating through her all the while.

April has always been open-faceted to that friend, save for the knowledge of that dance. #Confession: April was afraid of being judged for knowing about the dance. It is indeed a very pathetic excuse, but she regrets that—is sorry for lying in a blatant manner. She is now bound to a promise to herself that she will never lie to that person anymore no matter what the situation or how desperate the circumstance.

Back to what April’s trying to form into a plot of: subtlety of the art of making love has always earned April’s appreciation and admiration.

Writing about that dance in a dangerously innocent way, with the precarious edges of the excitement, passion, the thrill of the hot-blooded desire and the climax forked out into sudden cliff-hangers, twists and endless surprises—sometimes as sweet as the best choco-chip cupcake and as that bad bitter example of a lemon-pie gone to waste at other times—touching the point right on the nail, yet just skimming through it at the same time—just enough to give the reader a small jolt of lightning through his spine; subtlety is a wonderful thing of joy. Or so what April thinks. Like Bella’s and Edward’s first time in ‘Breaking Dawn’, and the way those online fanfiction authors stage their plots. And April is quite happy that she is slowly trying her best to somehow master writing in that genre with subtlety.

Off-track, yes. But its amazing when there are so many people out there in this blue marble who trust the person they’re bonded to and partake in the dance with nothing but the utmost form of love coursing through their veins. April wonders if she’d ever get to feel that way. And with that person mirroring those wonderings of hers. April does not believe in miracles in life. But she would not say no to something along those lines happening to her.

This, what April Twelving has written is all over the place: with no fixed plot whatsoever and leaving the reader with multiple question marks springing up at almost at the end of every other sentences. April believes that her writing skills—if there were even any in her to begin with—has further plunged down. She apologizes to you whose time was just wasted in reading this which she considers as trash. #Author’s note only.

April Twelving salutes those people who finds a true muse in their true love—which is not limited to anything.

Music that inspired April for the current work: Salut D’Amour.

Date: 2012.12.01

Day: Saturday

Ceasing to write at: 22:31 (time)

~April Twelving

Of Reminiscence and Consummating Love

This here is my latest work of Gakuen Alice fanfiction. This has been published on fanfiction . net. DO NOT COPY! THIS IS MY WORK.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gakuen Alice or anything related to it. The rightful owners do.

She turned in her sleep, tossing her sheets away from her side and covering my face while doing so. And being so sensitive to every other movement around me, I awoke—when I didn’t want to. I wanted that moment to last forever. Though all the times I spend with her make me feel blessed, that was the one moment which I never wanted to let go. I sighed and shut my eyes tighter, hoping that sleep would take over my senses again. But all I could do was feign. I turned, too, only to grab her around her torso and pull her gently toward me. As sleepy as she was, or maybe tired from last night’s experimentations, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was…she didn’t react in any way when I yanked her toward my bare, muscled chest. I hugged her tight and put my mouth over her pale shoulder which was revealing from under the sheets. I inhaled her aroma so deep that my head was going dizzy. Her sweet strawberry scent was something one would always want to hover around and too bad for my little tangerine, I’d gotten used to it. I smiled for what seemed to be the first time in my twenty years of torture.

Yes, torture would somehow be just about the right word to describe the cocktail gone sour since long: my life. You see, that is just what is on the menu.

But when an indicative picture of the cocktail is placed right next to its description of contents and such, it makes the ordering part more sensible. And that is: mental torture.

Also, it’s something along the lines of an eye-catcher; something like a cherry placed on the wedge of the cocktail flute.

When explained and understood, my personal life would sound hellish. And that would be another mocktail…

My mother had died almost immediately after giving birth to my little sister. Experiments I think were that what killed her. The doctors had wanted to test the possibilities of risk at its highest peak; they had wanted to try to see if my mother would overcome her condition to deliver the baby out safely. They managed to perform a small glitch in the whole process and then, she died. Just like that. I saw it all. I saw the whole thing live from the small transparent circle in the door of the operation theatre, a room which was supposed to save people. But I witnessed the opposite. The lovely black haired lady whom I used to tease as an old hag and stick my tongue out was no more. Without her warm presence, our mansion seemed more like a haunted house. Now in our family of three, only Aoi and me reside in our mansion house as my father always stays at his small penthouse in Hokkaido, afraid that he would be consumed with thoughts of my mother if he should ever come around anywhere near Tokyo. Though the mansion would be bustling about with servants trying their best to keep it primmer than it already was, most of the rooms were completely empty and because of that, it gave off an eerie aura to everyone around it.

---

Overcome with grief for the death of the one lady he loved most, my father was inconsolable. Even with everyone doing their best to soothe the environment in which I and my father had been engulfed in, he would remain just like that. He would hold the large picture of the both of them, taken when in their courtship days, hold it close to his chest and weep silent tears which mirrored his sorrow. He touched neither a morsel of food nor a drop of water and stayed that way for days together. Night and day, I could hear his faint whispers to his departed wife; he was talking to her. It all made sense to me only after I realized it a few years later. For him, Hyuuga Kaoru was alive. Deep in his heart, the sweet lady whom he would love till the end of time lived on. Why, I had thought, those tears just added more liquid to the never ending ocean of grief. Not wanting to show my pain to others, I had never for once shed a tear: I didn’t want anyone to think that I had a weakness. To forget it all, Hyuuga Ioran took to business. Pulling his adorable children into the industry, he developed a different kind of bond with them. No matter how much he tried to bury his sorrow at his wife’s death, he was never successful at it. His exterior showed a tough, ruthless businessman—高い: expensive. But in the interior, he always had the longing to stay by the grave of his wife while his soul would be screaming inside him to be let out to rejoin with my mother’s which had departed long back—安い: cheap…and about to explode.

---

My sweet adorable, innocent sister was the only person who changed our hearts. Well, mine at the least. We wanted her to live peacefully in the special house into which we had moved—a house which my father had purchased after much consultation so that Aoi might be free from any of my mother’s memories. Our wish was to fill her life thoroughly with joy; we wanted her to be carefree, just like the wonderful butterflies that we had painted ourselves on the walls of her large room. Even with all our lavish pampering, Aoi was never once detected to have a snobby character.

     She was very good friends with people of every other social strata. She was never the ‘I’m-a-princess-treat-me-like-royalty’ kind of person and she is the same even now. Ever since Aoi started to understand the things happening around her, there was not much of a faint sniff or a drop of a tear. We were her mother, father, brother, friend and everything else with her being just the same to us. We changed her life like she changed ours. We brought the change in such a way that she never took to heart that our mother had died. My Buriko, having vested her heart and soul in a profession which finds passionate enough, is now eighteen and is already at the top of her career as a successful event planner. Hyuuga Aoi is the most cheerful person I have known so far besides my mother…and Mikan. Well, my Mikan.

---

Whenever I seemed to swirl a bit too far into my sorrow laden past, I would usually delve so deep into thoughts about it that I would have no sense of my then current state unless snapped. This would never fail to bring a mild migraine to my head and it was the same even then. I wanted to have a shower to cool my senses. I groaned a little; the thought of staying away from her for even a second caused me pain. I’d wanted to shower with her—isn’t that how it goes with all the lovers almost all the times? But given that she was deep asleep, I let it go. I slid out of the bed after swathing her gently in the sheets like a cocoon. I put on my pants which lay haphazardly on the floor and stretched my arms, and yawned. I stretched wide, allowing every small muscle in my body to contract and relax. Last night…other than being tiresome, it was sweaty. I sniffed my nose to smell my scent. Ah, it was a mixture—of mine, and of course, mostly hers. ‘I’d smell like an appetizing strawberry if I don’t have a hot shower soon.’ As hungry as I was for her scent and wanted her flavor around me, it was still slick against me. ‘Yuck!’

I walked into the open bathroom and not pausing to shut the door behind me, I turned the knob of the shower. Hot water ran through my body while calming my tensed muscles on the way. I stood that way for what seemed to me like ages and stepped out reluctant to turn the knob the other way.

I examined my face in the mirror. Blood had pooled under the surface of my cheeks—I was blushing. Well, that was a first if I should say so myself. And if Mikan saw that, she’d definitely think that I had crossed over to the side of  constant or even eternal light and warmth—which I hadn’t. Not yet, at least. I covered my eyes with my bangs, which usually blocked anyone from reading my face even with the emotionless mask I always wore. I wrapped a towel around my waist and strode over to the refrigerator in my tastefully decorated, state-of-the-art kitchen.

I opened its pale colored double doors to scan it briefly and locked my eyes on the carton of milk which was my target. My fridge was never so full until Mikan came around. Her cooking reduced my daily habit of eating out at pizza and burger outlets. I drank the contents of the carton greedily. ‘All that shouting and sweating must’ve made me thirsty.’ Sure I was shouting like hell yesterday. It was too much, the pleasure… I wasn’t able to bear it; my body seemed too small to contain all the bliss. That was just what I felt in me. My chest was thrumming; it seemed like her every touch always left an open invitation, calling for more.

Last night, we’d made history as we were the only couple out there exploring a new world of our own. I’d always been spending so much time lying around her room playing on my PS or reading manga. Other than that, I would usually be seen kissing Mikan with no gentleness whatsoever or playing pervert around her. It seemed that Polka had whined a small complaint to her abnormal best friend over my lack of romance. So Imai, being the ice queen as she is, blasted me with her stupid Baka Cannon and handed me a ‘romantic-no-nonsense-guide’. I wondered how on Earth my best friend Ruka Nogi, was able to stand a girl like her. Let alone have her as his girlfriend. The very thought made me scoff. Then again, the blasting was the only thing which made me realize the reason as to which Mikan hadn’t criticized my pervertedness around her for the last couple of days.

I am Hyuuga Natsume and I don’t like it when I’m taught about something or just when I am being commented on. Even if Imai was nothing but caring for me in a way, it was still my love life. And I am going to make sure that no one would interrupt me in any way, even if they are going to give me just a piece of advice for my own good. Here, I am to conquer a kingdom. I would either win the war…or win it. The word ‘lose’ was never to be found in my dictionary. Being the poor boy I am, I never have had any knowledge of the word to even consider it. Without another glance at the glossy guide, I chucked it into the shredder at my workplace where I watched the book tear up in a million or so pieces while I sat behind my mahogany desk smirking.

That very night, I planned to take her out for a spin at romantic places. I spoke with Aoi for over an hour, explaining what I wanted, and asked her to plan the day in such a way that it would be agreeable with Mikan’s tastes. Since my sister had complete knowledge of my only love, I felt reassured with entrusting the planning of the day to Aoi. Among many other things, we went riding through those heart shaped tunnel thingies, danced some tango, enjoyed a candlelit dinner, and finally closed the curtain to the show in my king sized bed. I must say, it was pretty hard for me to talk to her without avoiding my usual perverted behavior which I’d gotten used to. But I had to, if I wanted my only true love to be together with me. Not that Polka would ever consent to a break up with me in the first place: the very thought of her ending our relationship made me smirk at its foolish notion. The fact that Mikan was a pure virgin, totally new to the world of seduction, made me very proud. I went deep into her, my hardness exploring every other crevice of her unexplored domain. I was the master. But unlike her usual ‘slow learner’ type, she quickly grasped everything and was totally on the same play mode as I was. Sure she had the innocence of a sophomore schoolgirl. But when it came to these things, she totally turned me on with that teasing attitude of hers. My Ichigo Kara definitely is unique.

I’d always wanted to do that to Polka ever since we were together. But I was cautious and careful enough not to hurt her in any way. Back then, I wanted to let her know that it wasn’t her body that I was attracted to, but her sweet love. I’d yearned so much for it. But after she came to know the full extent of my emotional love for her, it seemed that she wanted to take our relationship to the next level. Now that we’d conquered the other level, hell it was! My feelings were a tie between her love and her body. We made paradise and we reveled in it. True I’d known lust, but I had never experienced a thing like that before—it was completely different. If I was a god at making love, then she was a goddess as she was definitely on the same level as I was even though it was her first shot at it.

Let me put it in a much simpler, yet meaningful way: We were the first lovers of the world and we were gods. But just as before, physical love was not something for which I’d always pursued Mikan. It was for her pure soul which had not one teensy trace of evil or anything bad. I, being the most inoffensive sadistic person, and having a thoroughly tortured soul for one, wanted to experience something out of the world I’d lived in. Mikan, I always thought, was my reward—though I don’t know for which effort of mine.

Back when I was unaccustomed to the way in which things worked, I was under the impression that the female gender is very understanding and caring for the most. But of course, that impression had to do a back-track once I discovered my true potential in the world which was mainly based on my looks and wealth and all the fame it brought along. If the female population sets its eyes on me for just a fraction of a second, I guess that only two idiotic reasons would be visible to them.

One: A mortal angel has descended upon Earth.

Two: The angel is incredibly and unbelievably rich enough to feed a few generations.

I guess those two reasons would be just enough for them all to start their efforts in trying to pin me down with their flirtatious natural instincts. Nope…that wouldn’t be in the right sense. They’d actually be throwing themselves at me.     

It became very hard for me to even step out to the nearest convenience store to buy a can of soda or grab a couple of manga. Their ‘angel’s’ much sought after life which was a kind of heaven at least till then, turned into total hell. For me, Hyuuga Natsume, Armageddon had already come upon the Earth in the form of females—except for my late mother and my sister, that is. That remained so until, of course, my tangerine princess walked into my much abused shadowy life.

---

I gulped down the special nutrient rich milk Mikan had bought for me. After that, I would’ve usually thrown the carton somewhere on the floor of my big kitchen, ignoring the trash bin which was right beneath the sink. But thanks to Mikan’s strict overseeing yet again, I dutifully threw the empty carton into the bin. After my thirst for normal liquids had been quenched, I went to my grand room.

Mikan Sakura, the most confusing jigsaw puzzle I’d ever tried to join, is most undoubtedly the true love of my life…my soul mate. Strange as it is for everyone else to understand, she is the piece who is supposed to fit with me perfectly. True, no one can really comprehend the mystery in our relationship once they get to know our attitudes; I am almost unsociable—I hardly talk to my own family. And she is the sun which would never set for eternity—even a stranger could become her good friend right away. Now that was something which caused me to smile and frown as well. The idiotic girl is just too innocent for her own good.

   

  My beautiful reformer was still in bed, just as she was before, curled into a tight ball. I plopped myself onto the center of the bed, careful enough not to wake my sleeping beauty. For something to do, I ruffled her hair gently and smoothed a few curls out of the frame of her cute, angelic face. She stirred a little, and smiled unconsciously; she was obviously dreaming about Howalon fluff-puffs, given that she was drooling over the soft pillows. I sighed. Some things never change. I felt a little jealous, though; whom would she choose to be on top of her love priority list? Me? Or those Howalons? I wondered if she had the maturity to carefully weigh her choices and make the decision, even if I was just fooling around a bit. Although I was just musing over that kiddy issue, I still admit that I felt a pang of jealousy. I wanted her to dream and drool that way about ME; not those fluff-puff candies which hardly last in one's tongue for mere seconds…

       While I was musing over that and smoothing her hair absentmindedly, a smirk suddenly seemed to be plastered on my face; I had just the perfect punishment for her for ruining my expensive silk pillow covers. Later when she'd wake up, I would demand another round with her to play my lover. I kept watching her for what seemed to be an immeasurable period of time. I kept my eyes locked on her face, not able to withdraw my gaze. I looked at her lips; those full pink, luscious and tasty lips which never for once have failed to turn me on.

       I touched it with my index finger, moistening my finger tip while I stroked its length. I sensed a sudden urge building in me to grab her and kiss her senseless, not caring about the fact that she was deep asleep. I hated to burst her bubble but I'm afraid that I can never exercise my usual stance of self control whenever I'm around her. Everything about her was sweet—even her heavenly tasting cum had traces of sweetness! As absorbed as I was at looking at nothing but just her soft lips, it seemed that I’d subconsciously crawled closer to her. I placed my forehead against hers and kissed the tip of her shiny nose.

       I stayed a moment that way, inhaling deeply, taking in her sweet strawberry fragrance. My proximity to her made the fragrance heady and it hit me fresh in the face. Just when I took a fresh sniff of the scent, whatever little self control I thought I had, vanished into nowhere and all my noble thoughts were muddled. I could not but crash her lips with mine when she was ‘torturing’ me in that way. Since she was murmuring in her sleep, I took advantage of it and opened her mouth and shoved my hot tongue inside her tender mouth. All this while that I was kissing her so roughly and intently, she were still damn asleep.

       I, The Natsume Hyuuga, kiss a girl and she doesn’t respond to it? Tsk, tsk. That didn’t go well with me; I frowned. Yesterday, she was on the same play level as I was and now? She’s snoring bubbles off her nose! Even in a moment like that, Mikan didn’t fail to amuse me. A small frown was plastered on my forehead and then I bit her. As careful as I was on trying not to hurt her in any possible way, I couldn’t take that. I fixed my strong teeth onto her sensuous lips until I’d tasted a kind of saltiness. I’d drawn blood. Ichigo’s eyes flew open; she should have probably finished her Howalon box by then.

REDNIQS COMMENT

通知→『ルキ』さんから聞いて私に書いたこのラジオのコメントは全部カンペキかもしれません。『ルキ』さんと『ＤＪあさひ』さんの会話を一人で、耳の能力で書いてありますから間違いの場合があります。私何タイプの携帯辞書がも使えませんでした。会話の意味の漢字も間違い場合があります。私の日本語能力はまだいいじゃありませんから。どうもすみません。

(Notification-> I cannot guarantee that this comment of RUKI made on radio, written by me is perfect. As I wrote the conversation between RUKI and DJ Asahi by myself,  while solely relying on my hearing ability, there are possibilities of mistakes. I did not use any kind of electronic dictionaries. There are possibilities that I may not have depicted the original meaning of the conversation with the true Chinese characters intended for the word(s). This is because my Japanese ability is still not good and has a long way to go. Please excuse me)

ビジュアル系バンド『ガゼット』の『ルキ』様からいただいたＲＥＤＮＩＱＳコメント

ラジオにコメントを出てきた年月日：２０１１年１０月２２日

ＤＪあさひさん：『ＦＭ』はつまりにから生放送で送りします『ＲＥＤＮＩＱＳ』。え、今夜の『ＲＥＤＮＩＱＳ』は『ＳＴＡＲ』ただけの三時間。『ＲＥＤ』が『ＳＴＡＲ』達からのコメントも今夜たくさん届いております。え、先ほど十二時代は『ＹＥＬＬＯＷ　ＦＲＩＥＤ　ＣＨＩＣＫＥＮＺ』：『ＧＡＣＫＴ』さんと『ＮＩＧＨＴＭＡＲＥ』の『よみ』さんのコメントを聞いていただいたんですが、この時間も六回用代表する『ＳＴＡＲ』の二人。え、ニュウアルバム『ＴＯＸＩＣ』が校長の『ガゼット』ボカル『ルキ』さんと、え。。他月連続シングルリリ一スが話題の『ＡＣＩＤ　ＢＬＡＣＫ　ＣＨＥＲＲＹ』：『やす』さんからのコメントよいしました。え、今回もいくつか近況を聞いてから自身も『ＳＴＡＲ』である彼らが憧れている『ＳＴＡＲ』について語ってもらえました。では、まずは『ガゼット』『ルキ』さんのコメントから聞いて行きましょう。

ルキ：え、『ＦＭ』はつまり（？）に『ＲＥＤＮＩＱＳ』を聞いの皆さん、え。。そしＤＪあさひさん、こんばんは。え、『ガゼット』のボカルの『ルキ』です。ええと、今夜の『ＲＥＤＮＩＱＳ』はええと『ＳＴＡＲ』ただけの三時間と言うことでええと、何かと『ＳＴＡＲＳ』駆使七用で送りしている見たいなんですが、ええと今回ですね最近『ＳＴＡＲ』のに使用と言うテ一マですね、いくつか質問をもらってまして、ええそれから僕はですね、えと答えして行こうかなと思っております。えとまず、一問目。。。え、最近買った物。。ああ最近買った物ですよね。。ええっとあの昨日的にあの洋服が好きなので今はですね冬服とかを。。えとがしがし買ってる感じではあります、はい。

ＤＪあさひさん：え、『ルキ』さんの話す声って『ＳＥＸＹ』ですよね。どくとくの『ＳＥＸＹ』さありますよね。清春さんの喋る声にちょっと近いものが。。え。。あると思いますけど。え、冬物が最近は買っていると言うことでした。え、つずいて最近悩んでいることありますか。

ルキ：悩んでることなんですけど、えと段々最近も冬日風できているですね。えと、覚まさたいさくと言うのかこ。。どうやったらこ。。暑くなくちょっと気持ちをくすくすれかなとちょっと日々緊急したり、えと喉もあるんでね。えと、その傷かったりえとしたります、はい。

ＤＪあさひさん：まあ、喉に完成は僕もね。え、交換そうして来るとやっぱ心配ですよね。色々と僕も悩んでおります。さ、つずいて『ガゼット』『ルキ』さんが最近人にプレゼントをした物がありますか。

ルキ：ああと、プレゼント、プレゼントと言うるか分からないんですが、えと後輩のバンドのことかいいんですね。とうちのライブ『ＧＯＯＤＳ』とかどうですね。気にってもらってので、えとそれをですね。ちょっと小出しに上げたりしてます。

ＤＪあさひさん：僕も欲しいｓ！今度会ったらお願いしと思います。や『ガゼット』の、あのライブ『ＧＯＯＤＳ』っていじょうにかっこいですよ、たすかに。あまりこのいわるつは『ＧＯＯＤＳ』僕ないんですよね。日程とかバンド名とかそう言うあまいこ。。目が杖入ってながったでしょうね。いいですね。え、そしていよいよこの質問です。『ガゼット』『ルキ』さｎ、あなたにとって『ＳＴＡＲ』は誰ですか。

ルキ：えと、これ偶然何ですかですね。明日、えと同じ『ＦＭ』はつまりにですね。えと、かみの『隆一』さんのですね、ラジオがあるんですけど、この真さにね。僕もとってに『ＳＴＡＲ』と言う真さに『ＳＴＡＲ』と言ったらこの『ＳＴＡＲ』と言ったら言う人にラジオに出ですか。この若い頃からやっぱり僕はね。こう好きでずっと聞いてたりとか、やっぱりその話したりことだったりとか、そう言うことはですね。えと、今もやっぱり覚えて言って。えと、それはやっぱり今の『ガゼット』をつながってると思うでやっぱり僕にとってはやっぱる永遠の『ＳＴＡＲ』だなと言う思いがあります、はい。えと、それはですね。そんな『ガゼット』なんですが、えと。。えと今つあやってまして。えと、つあとこのやってますのであのぜひライブにも遊びに来て下さい。はい。え、『ガゼット』のボカルの『ルキ』でした。

ＤＪあさひさん：『ルキ』さん、どうもありがとうございました。やっぱり『隆一』さんなんですね、『ルキ』さんもね。はい。え、原罪全国すは中の『ガゼット』関西のライブはあさった十月二十八日『１０月１８日』月曜日が滋賀の琵琶湖ホ一ル大ホ一ル。えそして、え。。十一月十八日月曜日：こちらは奈良百年会館大ホ一ル。月曜日かい中ね、月曜の夜に番組がある僕としては大変残念のに行ってるですけどもね。えそして、え。。さっきねチラット『ルキ』さんも言っていましたけれども、え。。明日の深夜：明日二十三日『２３日』日曜日深夜、十二時から送りする『川村隆一』さんの番組『Ｋ　ＰＯＷＥＲＳ　ＮＩＧＨＴ　ＭＡＧＩＣ』の中で『隆一』さんと『ルキ』さんがたいだんします。え、どんな遠くが危険のかごうきたいといただいと思います。え、それでは：ニュウアルバム『ＴＯＸＩＣ』から『ルキ』さんの歌声を聞いていただきましょうかね。『ガゼット』で『ＶＥＮＯＭＯＵＳ　ＳＰＩＤＥＲ‘Ｓ　ＷＥＢ』。　　

ガゼットのこと私の心にいる言葉、感じと愛。かかって来い！The words, feelings and the love I have for The GazettE. Come at me!

ガゼットのこと私の心にいる言葉、感じと愛。かかって来い！

The words, feelings and the love I have for The GazettE. Come at me!

 Yet another time of watching The GazettE’s NSLB Tokyo Dome Final Live Tour DVD and I still am not satisfied with having watched it the last I honestly don’t know how many times. Time and time again, when I have some or the other task to work with on my laptop—whether it’s a trifling thing or something very serious—I never for once fail to get the temptation jumping up in my heart to just sneakily go towards the search bar, type in “Tokyo Dome” and click on any one of the three discs’ video. Though I start to watch one, then seek the disc ahead to relive another favorite moment somewhere in the video, then having realized that I somehow finished watching this one video, I click the next one or two in line and play them over and over again till I get tired of minding the time which reminds me I am yet to even start with my task for which I brought the laptop to life for now. When I’m finally done with all the watching and regaining my pure love for them again, I realize that the time is way past than what I’d initially intended my deadline to be. Sighing, I notice a lazy smile unintentionally stretching its way across my lips and decide to post pone whatever task I had to do for a later time and close the lid of my laptop.

Given my nature for profound laziness, whenever I get to secretly immerse myself in such…things which I adore, respect, love and love to re-live, I can’t help but give in to that desire which makes me want to stop and indulge in whatever it is, though that might always not point towards the right direction, I get to feel awed. I told people that I fell in love with Japan all over again when I came back from that most wonderful country. But then again, that feeling is never lost within me—I get to fall in love with The GazettE over and over again with the mere watching of that one Final Live DVD.

Why I love The GazettE so much? Feh, you’re welcome to search for that answer along with me. Let’s make it a quest to hunt out for a proper answer for that question, shall we? It’s not because of the fact—yes, fact—that they’re all unbelievably gorgeous thirty plus year old men, who look as if they had been once dunked in the fountain of eternal glory and youth, or because they are more stunning than all those pencil thin ‘beautiful’ models and actors and other celebrities that the media and other forms of publicity always seem to parade around, or because I’m simply amazed at how a normal looking man can be so…so ‘OMG!’ {and when I say OMG, its always “Oh My GazettE” and NOT “Oh My God” as in ways more than one, The GazettE IS my god} or because they have so many, many fans all around this blue marble of a planet and I’m also itching to be just one among them, it’s not for the fashion. Or the glamour they have to present. My love is for none of all these bling bling factors. Though I never had to have added the fashion and glamour because it’s more of a natural asset to them.

It’s about that tingly feeling in you when you hear they’re going to release a new piece of music—I won’t say a ‘single’ or an ‘album’ because considering all that they’ve done so far, it never really makes sense to me to label their works like that; they are in the process of creating so much music, beside the scores of music already created, its endless…these guys put in so much into what they do that they seem to be working nonstop. So each new ‘single’ and ‘album’ for me is just a new piece of whatever feeling they have in their hearts at present.

I drew ire, criticism, ridicule and much more from a co-participant of a two week scholarship to Japan just because I loved The GazettE. Come on, people! It only counts when you have a serious reason to bully. After getting just a slight wind of how much my love for The GazettE is, this person goes so far as to create a fake ticket/”VIP backstage passes” of The GazettE, claiming that they’re to come to perform in Palace Grounds, Bangalore, Karnataka, INDIA in December (2011). This he did during our scholarship’s final local orientation as he wouldn’t get another, more glorious chance to play such a cheap trick at me. I got this really nagging doubt as to why The GazettE should go abroad elsewhere ignoring all those main league countries where their fan base is more predominant, while their TOXIC LIVE TOUR was going on. Still, blinded by the momentary illusion’s rush, thanks to his lie that he made sound so damn legit, I couldn’t help but scream out like a maniac every two minutes for the next week or so almost everywhere I’d think about it, not minding where I was.

Imagine being told and convinced out of the blue that the gods who you worship almost every second are going to come over to your city to perform and you’ve got VIP Backstage Passes? Who wouldn’t freak out? Who wouldn’t fall to such a shameless fraud when you’re so blinded with all the love you have for them? Who wouldn’t do what I did?

Having gotten permission from my damn strict orthodox family to attend their ‘Live-in December’ concert was something I couldn’t believe; I guess I must probably have gotten out of my way some time or the other about The GazettE that made my parents understand at least a little of it. Texting every contact on my phone to goad about how The GazettE was finally going to show up here so much that my phone’s credit talk balance would expire just as soon as I recharge it with more  money. I don’t think I have ever been more active than then in my life of sixteen years till now, not even when I heard that I had got selected to go to Japan for two weeks.

Again, I insist that in the midst of all this blinded celebration, there was always this rather huge question mark stuck right there in my head as to why I believed and going along so stupidly with this scandalous news. I now accept that I had been a fool back then, I couldn’t help but fall into the deviously schemed plan by that person. Stupid, trusting, naïve lamb that I was to always ignore that question mark and just go ahead and rush with gushing over it!

Then after the said ‘day when The GazettE were to perform’ had passed, this person has so much guts as to text me saying that it was all just a plain trick he played on me just to enjoy watching me make a fool of myself. Though I did retort quickly with a smart message that I’d known about his dirty intention all the time, and that I was going along with it just to fool him in the end, the regret has never left me. Fifty years from now and I will still be looking back at this incident with pure shame, loath and disgust. And from that day, I have ceased almost all contacts with that smart ass son of a bitch. I am a person who never succumbs to any sort of profanity and this is gone so out of my hands that I can’t swear at it all the time.

But in a way, I am sort of thankful—though I shouldn’t be in any way—to that person as I would never have realized the deep love, admiration, affection and all the other positive, overwhelming vibes of feeling I have for The GazettE if that person had never scorned me so much. But I am thankful for just that AND NOTHING ELSE. He should be counting his blessings that it has never occurred me to personally confront him about this and leave a huge shameful dent upon his personality; good lord, who knows what I might do to that person when I act on a whim all of a sudden! Now I really do understand what Shakespeare said when he said ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’. Because oh no, I’m not scorned! I am feeling something much more deeper than that, can’t really put a finger on what exactly it is.

I wonder if that person understands even just a little of how I feel, of all that I am now ranting. But something tells me the answer is just plain negative. That person should understand how it feels like when you are cheated out of those fantasies you dream about something you set your heart and soul into loving. The feeling is intense and is something you only get to know when you experience it in the worst state possible, I believe. I have been bullied, harassed and cornered in the last two years of high school even by people who were the most closest to me all because I loved Japan, and everything the culture. Never once did I care for that. I continued pursuing it with all my passion and I guess I’m now slowly reaping the fruits of that. It is disappointing when people bully you, play really childish and worthless tricks all because of a mere, fucking unbelievable invalid reason. Shame on those people. I guess their rejoicing in it only raises the bar for their stupidity and I don’t think I could possibly do anything about it but go about my own track and crack their foolish ideas by flaunting my success and my cool attitude in front of them. Maybe that would be more 

effective than a direct slap to the face?

Now that I’ve written this, I feel more calm and relaxed. It always helps me a lot when I open the lid of the laptop the moment I’m frustrated, vent it all out on the keys and then sighing so huge when I notice the heavy feeling being lifted from my chest. Yup, I’m done with this now. But one question remains in me: should I email a copy of this to that person and directly declare my disgust for what he’s done, no matter how good a friend he’d been to me before?

Help, please.

――――＞I really love The GazettE so very much from my heart and from my soul, too. If anyone has a problem with this, then come at me straight!

－－－→私はガゼットが心からと魂からも本当にとても大好きです。そのことのついて誰が問題があると、私へ真っ直ぐかかって来い！

Shakespearean Rondo

Author: April Twelving.

24-10-2011 13:44:51

Miss April’s first encounter with Shakespeare was when she was a girl whose juncture of age was no more than that of which a child would have just evolved from the phase of skimming through picture books for the basic means of trifle education and entertainment. It was her father who had introduced him to her; he had bought her a cheap version of an abridged copy of “THE TEMPEST”. To say frankly, for a little girl of that age who only had awareness and familiarity of the standard Indian names and vistas that Miss April had been so used to, she took to reading the book which was filled with rather strange and vivid pictures of its characters with relish as she honestly found them and their names quite funny. Miss April still couldn’t put a finger on what its plot was even after reading—she should rather say ‘skimming’ as that is what she used to do back then—it a fair few times. But maybe after a year or so after that, she did fully grasp the contents of the plot and used to cogitate upon every scene in it that she found to be quite intriguing.

Time flew by, Miss April grew up and there was not once when she even threw a second glance at the book except for those times when she would dust off her book shelves to restyle them, stacking all the novels she had acquired by then in order, by size and personal preference just to please her parents, to show them that she could at least take good care of those books which they had bought for her upon her vehement outbursts for more books. But all that time, she was constantly mindful of the fact that Shakespeare was very famous and that he was associated with everything in that which literature partook. She had known that he was from a medieval period of time—though not a very early time—as she had read the infinitesimal amount of information that had been presented for his profile in the Preface part in the book her father had bought her.

By the time Miss April was in high school, people around her were convinced that she had developed this ‘queer-according-to-them’ penchant for poring over thick volumes of novels or books whenever she could get her hands on one. That is something she doesn’t quite understand—just because Miss April tends to appreciate the flavour of those novels which people don’t, that doesn’t give them any damn right to either comment about or mock her for it, people should just shut up and mind their damn businesses which they make a wreck of instead of poking their noses and almost everything else into what insightful venture she tries to undertake. If not being encouraging, they should at least stop with their trivial dictum.

So it didn’t really surprise her classmates when Miss April used to always read an old version of “THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE” which she happened to chance upon in the non-popular, crumbling corner of the poor excuse of a library in her old school. By the looks of it, she could easily gather that not many people had even strayed by the book—Indian kids just love to scratch away at any good book or object they happen to lay their hands upon—as this book was in a pretty good shape without any doodles in any of its pages, except for its battered form because of the flow of time it had been subjected to. Back then, Miss April’s class had had to study just an overview of the play “THE MERCHANT OF VENICE” in their English class. So as she was really curious as to what content the unabridged version of it possessed, she used to read the same play from the thick compilation.

They had also studied Sonnet Number xxix, whose translation from what Miss April was able to perceive back then, was quite extraordinary according to her English teacher. The other kids used to blink pointedly while she rambled on with her review of the sonnet. Her teacher was so happy that she had beamed about it to every other teacher in the school who had known Miss April. She used to say, “Those who do not understand the “Shakespearean language” are normal.” Miss April guesses that was meant to point out that she was in contrast from the others: abnormal. But frankly speaking, she had not much trouble with the “Shakespearean language” as her teacher deemed the form of English used in Shakespeare’s works, to be that much of a challenge at all. True, she would occasionally stumble upon many words that she was ignorant of in almost every other page, but that ignorance would be non-existent when she would try to grasp its meaning almost immediately with some form of trusted reference. Miss April gave in to her ignorance and learnt loads from it rather than just slump her shoulders and berate that she was a poor scholar of words and understanding when it came to the English language.

Miss April loved the gentle cadences of speech of Shakespeare’s time and thought she ought to learn more of it. But ugh! Ninth Grade had ended by the time she could finish reading the play and she really was not allowed to spare even second looks at any form of books other than the prescribed schoolbooks when in Tenth Grade. Relentless as she was to conquer more of Shakespeare’s works, she tried to hunt for a complete compilation of his works—just like the one she used to read in the library in her old school…she later came to hear that the copy which she used to lovingly pore over was somehow misplaced or stolen. Miss April was surprised to find herself involved in a heated discussion with the librarian—she would rather it was a fight—about how the woman could be so careless and misgiving about such a piece of treasure! All the librarian could do was hang her head when Miss April told her how much such a copy of the compilation might cost in the local bookstores—figures! That was all the woman cared about; she was constantly fretting over the loss of an expensive book when she could have been mourning the misplacement of a jewel as that. What came out of the search for that book, Miss April never knows to this day as she cares not for those who do not try to even appreciate the flavour and essence a book has to offer. Pathetic fools!

Though Miss April had wanted to acquire a copy of Shakespeare’s compilation more than anything else, it made her frown when she came to know of how expensive they could cost. But by Jove! Lady Luck seemed to have looked over at Miss April when she found a great copy for a very, very low and reasonable price after a few months when she was out with her cousin sister at their favourite haunt of a bookstore.

The compilation was in her possession for about five months in an idle state before she started to mesmerize herself with “A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM” just today. Miss April was intrigued by what Edward, the lead character of the ‘Twilight’ fiction series had said in the novel—either in ‘Eclipse’ or in ‘New Moon’, she does not remember which to be exact—about love while he spoke of it with comparison to A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM. Miss April decided to trust the fictional vampire character that was deemed to be a good judge of such things given that he was a century old and delve into reading the play.

Just a few pages into the play and she had already made her way to the kitchen where mother worked, to crow at her about how she felt—‘It’s absolutely amazing, mother! Now I finally get why everyone remarks Shakespeare a real genius. This is just like a long soap opera—there are other plots hidden beneath the main plots—but those which I can keep track of. And the vivid, fantabulous descriptions! Ah, what refreshing scenes they offer me with every word I read aloud!” Miss April’s mother just smiled at her, what knowledge of Shakespeare did she have in her to offer and share some with Miss April? That is something Miss April adores in her mother: she never gives half-baked advices or suggestions. Isn’t it simply much better staying put when you’re not aware of something than stutter over some newly formed assumptions the prideful mind can think of?

Miss April had stopped after just a few pages into the play for she had much academical studying to do for her mid-term examinations in her college. But she is sure that she will come back to start from where she had left off as she is very, very much eager to drown herself into the deeply exciting world the enthralling plot has to offer. But then again, Miss April would not be wrong if she said that she had also quit for the moment as she is very nervous and afraid of how the next turn in the plot might turn out to be—so much for immersing completely in it, ha! Like Miss April said, it has had on her all the effects that she would be crushed with when dutifully engrossed in an interesting sitcom of her choice, just like a soap opera.

Miss April does not really comprehend as to what ending note she should write in here as she cannot but think of only writing further about Shakespeare and his influence on her—beginning words—than put a stop to it in any way. The advent of Shakespeare on her life time and time again in different revelations and periods of time has made Miss April realise the constant changes in her outlook toward things, a different outlook every single time, how she comes to appreciate the distinct essence of everything she comes across and too much more that she could possibly come to know herself and put down in words—Shakespeare is Miss April Twelving’s personal rondo.